• I felt the cold floor in my back as I lay on the bathroom floor. I tried to open my eyes but I cant, it’s as if I cried all night, or did I? I tried opening them again; with a little bit of pressure I manage to open it half way. My sight was blurring, so I rubbed my eyes. As I started to stand up my head began to ache. Now I remembered what happened, I looked around the bathroom and nobody is there. I sigh in relief that I’m alone, I rubbed my head, checking for any lump on it, but I found nothing. I went to the mirror to look at myself, now I could tell that person in the mirror is me. My left hand has stopped it’s bleeding, but it still aches, my eyes refuses to see my wounded hand but I’ve got to see why it hurts more that before. I found stitches on the deep wounds I was frightened by the scene. This is not my hand I told myself, it was hideous and monstrous.

    Who did this to me? Is it my 12 yr old self or the boy in the mirror?

    I went back to my room to put on some clean clothes. I took a last look at my left hand, before I cover it with bandage. I opened the curtains widely; I was momentarily blinded by the sunlight, and let the sunlight invade the dark room. I sat down on the floor thinking what is happening around me.

    Am I going back to the past?

    How about that boy in the mirror, who was he?




    ~to be continued …